


What's Mine is Yours

by genevievedarcygranger



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: 5 Things, 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Aaron Hotchner Needs a Hug, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Major Character Injury, Minor Injuries, One Big Happy Family, One Shot, Sharing Clothes, Short One Shot, Some Humor, Stabbing, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27753742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevievedarcygranger/pseuds/genevievedarcygranger
Summary: Also known as the six times the team has stolen Hotch’s clothes, and the one time they all gave Hotch something back.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & David Rossi, Aaron Hotchner & Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner & Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner & Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner & The BAU Team, Penelope Garcia & Aaron Hotchner
Comments: 21
Kudos: 220





	What's Mine is Yours

**_I – JJ_ **

Colorado was not the worst place to be tracking down a serial killer. JJ always preferred the cold to the heat anyway, especially since the hotter states tended to cause more trouble with either close-minded small-town police or intolerable weather conditions that only worsened the decay of the corpses and the lifespans of kidnapped victims. But the snow was its own obstacle. What first started as a series of hikers gone missing had since been revealed as a serial killer who kidnaps and drops off victims in the middle of nowhere for the elements to kill them. Sometimes JJ hated her job.

But here she was anyway, shivering in the snow as the team swept throw the cabin that belonged to the unsub. She was not alone, standing outside next to the local police, though she had tried to keep her distance from one of the officers since he had refused to understand that she was not only married, but deeply uninterested. The more of the usual charming and picturesque snowflakes that floated down, the more that JJ was increasingly cold, wet, and irritated. It felt colder than Alaska, if that were possible, but JJ was probably exaggerating it in her mind. The unsub had confessed to the crime, but not the drop locations. The team was hoping that the unsub’s cabin would hold some clues, maybe even a map.

They were in luck. “I found something!” Reid called after the final clear-through. Grateful to come inside, even if it was a murderer’s den, JJ joined the rest of the team in inspecting the journals of the unsub.

Though the unsub had been living in the cabin for the past three months, which is when the disappearances started, he had neglected to take care of the place. The fireplace looked like it had never been used, and there was no power or water. It was just as cold inside as it was outside. Even though Reid was flipping through most of the journals, everyone had grabbed a book to settle in. Reluctantly, JJ pulled off her gloves and tucked them into her jacket pocket to join them. Still she shivered, unable to warm herself up and still cold and distracted to focus on the words on the page.

Of course, Hotch noticed. He noticed everything. Instead of saying anything, he unwound the scarf from his neck and passed it to her. At the first brush of the fabric against the back of her hand, JJ dropped the journal to the table and took it, latching on to the warmth. When she looked up at Hotch’s usual blank face, she waited for him to nod before she took the gray scarf from his hands with a wry smile of appreciation.

Before she returned to her reading, she wrapped the scarf around her neck twice and tucked the ends into her jacket so she wouldn’t lose it. Without really thinking about it, she dipped her nose into the soft fabric and inhaled. It smelled faintly like Hotch’s aftershave, but overall clean. Already, she could feel herself warming up as she picked up one of the journals again to peruse.

It wasn’t until much later when JJ was safely at home with her boys that she was unpacking her go-bag and noticed Hotch’s scarf was still in her possession. Fondly, she wound it through her fingers and over her wrists. Holding it to her face, she couldn’t smell his aftershave anymore. It was with a soft smile that JJ took it to her closet and hung it up on one of the pegs, fingers lingering and tugging on the ends. She didn’t think twice about keeping it for another cold, wintery day.

* * *

**_II – Reid_ **

Reid was very particular about many things in his life. He liked his coffee with more sugar than coffee. He did not listen to Christmas music before Thanksgiving. Unless the dish included a sauce or a sandwich, his food could not touch each other on the plate. And most importantly: his socks could never match.

His socks were one of the few indulgences he had to include some color into his life besides the brown cable-knit vests and turtlenecks, and the occasional purple scarf. He didn’t enjoy wearing patterns often because they were distracting, and he already knew he stood out too much from how awkward he was and his messy hair. So, he let his socks be the wild card, but it seemed useless to have both socks match if there were deliberately meant to be loud and tacky. So, he mismatched his socks.

For this case, the BAU and local police had to frequently check out the sewers, believing that the unsub thought himself to be some sort of evolved or mutated native of the sewers. “A teenaged mutant ninja turtle?” One of the police had scoffed his disbelief, elbow a buddy in camaraderie.

“Not a reptile, but a mammal,” Reid had corrected him, “Think specifically of a rodent-human hybrid. Approximately one-fourth of the human genome is shared with both rats and mice. It is why mice are often used in clinal drug trials.”

None of the police officers look amused after Reid shared that particular bit of information. Especially after Hotch told them that they would be combing the sewers to see if they could find any indication of the unsub’s natural habitat.

Reid didn’t care much for this case either, despite how fascinating the unsub’s psyche was. The sewers were not only extremely unsanitary, but the stench would cling to Reid clothes and to his hair long after he had showered. Occasionally, he’d have a misstep and he’d stumble into some deep, standing water. His socks were ruined, and even though he and the rest of the team (except Rossi and Hotch, who went to a dry-cleaner’s) all went to a laundromat to wash their clothes right afterwards, the stains wouldn’t lift out of the fabric. The colorful stripes and polka-dots faded. Reid was very upset.

“Come on, pretty boy. They’re socks and they’re inside your shoes anyway. So what if they’re stained?” Morgan tried to cheer him up.

“The same logic could be applied to underwear,” Emily drawled, making a show of looking Morgan up and down. “I’d hate to see your socks and underwear if you were using that logic.”

As Morgan released his hold on Reid’s smaller, slighter, bony shoulders to start teasing Emily in retribution, Hotch and Rossi met the team in the lobby of their hotel on the way to the elevators. Hotch noticed how Reid had one pair of his socks balled in his hands, staring at them forlornly. “Reid?”

"It’s nothing,” Reid dismissed, wondering when he’ll get the chance to go get some new socks. He’d really liked this pair. It was one of the last ones his mother got him before she was moved into a psychiatric facility.

Hotch let the matter go. “Could you follow me to my room so I can give you a few of the files? I think you’re better suited to the biology notes that the institute gave us.”

At Hotch’s room, Reid lingered in the doorway, waiting for the files. Hotch quickly brought him a thick stack with a pair of black socks balanced on top. “I know they aren’t as colorful as you normally pick, but they are clean and if you turn one of them inside it, the inside is Christmas themed. And it’s December.”

Gratefully, Reid took the files, but he did shoot Hotch a look of confusion. “You wear Christmas socks?”

Hotch didn’t miss a beat. “They were a gag gift from Jessica.”

“Ah.” Reid pressed his lips together in one of his awkward smiles. “Thank you, Hotch.”

"I expect those files to be debriefed to myself and the rest of the team tomorrow at the station.”

Reid nodded so vigorously that the ends of his hair whipped his cheeks. “Yes, sir.”

“Goodnight, Reid.”

* * *

_**III – Emily** _

Though she would never admit it, Emily was getting old. Her hair only made the strands of silver and gray stick out starkly against the dark, inky black background. She owed her elevated position to experience. Though she knew she was aging gracefully since she kept herself in shape, she also knew that she was having to cut down on her wine intake since she couldn’t bounce back as fast from a hangover. And while it did comfort her to know that she wasn’t the oldest on the team, she could tell that her vision was getting bad.

That didn’t mean Emily couldn’t shoot her glock and hit the target every time. No, what really made her feel old was when she was back at the bullpen instead of out of the field. She’d take tracking an unsub on foot through the woods and all the poison ivy in the world if it meant that she wouldn’t have to stay past four to do paperwork, but that is exactly where she was.

She had to turn down Morgan’s offer to go clubbing with him and Garcia, and Reid’s offer to go see a foreign Russian film so she could finish up these files that she’s been putting off. Rossi had already made his escape on a hot date, and JJ went home early so she could pick up Henry and Michael from daycare. That left Emily and Hotch sticking it out at the end of the day.

But Emily knew she had to do it if she was going to take Hotch’s place as Unit Chief as discussed. If she felt the effects of being old, she knew Hotch felt it more keenly. Her scar wound from Doyle only pained her every once and while, but she knew that Hotch had to take his pills for his Foyet stab wounds every day, and when it rained, he was especially cranky. The plan was that Jack starts high school, Hotch would take his promotion and Emily would be promoted internally. That was only a few years off now. She might as well get used to these long hours and miles of paperwork sooner rather than later.

Still, it was too much on her eyes. Anderson had to have been typing up some of this stuff in a smaller font to fuck with her or something, because she couldn’t remember ever having to squint so much before. Already she could feel the beginnings of a headache pounding in her temples. With a sigh, she glanced at the clock wistfully, deciding that another cup of coffee wouldn’t be doing her any favors. After taking a deep breath and stretching out her fingers, she returned her attention to the paperwork again and dived back in.

It was a few hours later that Emily was lifting her head from the paperwork fog at the sound of her name being called. Hotch was standing by her desk, two steaming mugs in his large hands. He passed one to her. “No thanks, Hotch, but if I drink any more coffee now, then I’ll never get a good night’s sleep without downing a bottle of wine.”

Raising an eyebrow at her, Hotch only pressed the mug into her hands until she was forced to bend her fingers around it. Only then did she get a whiff of peppermint and something else. “It’s tea,” he explained. “It won’t make you tired or keep you up, but it’ll warm you. The office gets cool when nobody is here.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Reid would explain it as something like entropy and the second law of thermodynamics.” Emily sipped at her tea, licking the remnants of flavor off of her lips. Without the paperwork as a distraction, she could really feel the effects of squinting at small black text on a white background for too long. Her eyeballs felt like they were growing moss, all itchy and fuzzy.

There was a soft clicking noise as Hotch placed something down on her desk next to her paperwork. “I’ve found that these help to take away some of the strain when I read,” Hotch said softly, as if not wanting to intrude though he already had.

He quickly stepped away before Emily could question him. She let him scuttle back to his office with his mug of tea before she curiously glanced at the gift he left behind. It was a pair of reading glasses, rectangular with a plain-black rim. The corners of her mouth curled into a smile at the thought of Hotch stopping by some corner convenience store hunting for bifocals. Looking back towards Hotch’s office, she could see him through the open blinds, the mug to his mouth as he shuffled papers around on his desk. Picking up his offer, she placed them on the bridge of her nose and tried looking at her own paperwork again. The change was instantaneous, and she settled back to work with renewed vigor.

It was only after she was finished that she realized she was still wearing them. Instead of returning them to Hotch, she snapped them closed and tossed them in her desk drawer without a second thought. She’d make it through the day without them, but when it was late like this, then she’d take them out to work. Nobody needed to know.

* * *

_**IV – Morgan** _

Yanking at the top of his Kevlar vest, Morgan positioned himself on the right side of the door in preparation for a breach. Across from him was Hotch. There was only one entrance point into the apartment, and the police were on the street below to check the fire-escape. Pistol pointed at the floor, Hotch gave him the nod to proceed. His suit jacket hung over him, barely hiding the blue of his own FBI Kevlar vest. Emily and Reid were five feet down, ready to follow up. Lifting his head, Morgan shouted, “FBI! Open up!”

There was no response.

Morgan wished the unsubs wouldn’t do this. However, the profile for this unsub lead the team believe that he would prefer suicide by cop before ever being imprisoned. Considering the heinous nature of his crimes, Morgan didn’t think the guy would last a second in prison either. Hotch gave him another nod and Morgan kicked the door open.

The SWAT training felt as natural as breathing for Morgan. He didn’t even have to think about it as he checked his corners and moved in. He could feel Hotch behind him like a shadow. With practice, Morgan tuned out the heavy, measured footsteps of his team, looking for signs of the unsub. He’d rather not shoot. A guy like this needed to be taken to justice for the sake of the victims.

Perhaps it was this line of thinking that made Morgan careless. As soon as he saw the unsub, he dropped his line of sights and made a rush forward. His intention had been to tackle the unsub down and wait for back-up before cuffing and making the arrest. What he had missed was the small, paring knife the unsub had tucked in his fist.

Even as Morgan pressed his forearm under the unsub’s Adam’s apple, he gasped and choked on the Miranda rights as he felt the blade slide in his side under the Kevlar vest. Switching his grip so that his other forearm pinned the unsub down, Morgan knocked the hand holding the knife away. He hadn’t intended for the unsub to remove the knife with it, and once he had, he felt the blood gush, a rush of sticky warmth, and then turned his head to watch it squirt on the dirty floorboards.

The part of Morgan’s brain that was devoted to memorizing the architecture styles of the houses he repaired noted that the floorboards looked like they’d fix up nice if someone took the time to restore them. It was the part of Morgan’s brain that was an FBI agent that dredged up a memory of Reid rattling off facts about how a cut to the arteries is worse than the veins since that meant the victim would bleed out faster. Morgan hated to think of himself as the victim.

Even as his brain worked, Morgan was still reciting the Miranda rights. It wasn’t until he saw Emily’s hands in his line of sight that he eased off of the unsub. The unsub had lost consciousness. Emily flopped him like a ragdoll on his front to put him in cuffs. Her voice was too loud in Morgan’s ears as she said, “There’s blood on the knife. Check the unsub for self-infliction.”

“Not his blood,” Morgan mumbled, sitting back on his heels. He might be getting too old for this. His knees hurt kneeling on this floor. When he fixed up homes, he always wore knee-pads. It was a good kind of ache when he wedged himself under kitchen sinks and crawled through tight attic spaces.

Emily’s hands paused in their clinical movements. “What did you say?”

Before Morgan could answer, Reid was the one to break in. He sort of collapsed on the floor in between Emily and Morgan like a colt freshly born from the mare, all limbs. “He said ‘Not his blood,’” Reid repeated from eidetic memory. “That’s a paring knife used for peeling produce. The blade is usually between three and five inches, and this one looks like it four.” Reid knew better than to pick up the knife even as he squinted at it where it lay on the floor. “We didn’t account for the unsub bringing any victims here.” His brow furrowed together, showing his confusion as much as he voiced it.

“That’s because there aren’t any,” Hotch’s deeper voice interjected. “Morgan, where are you bleeding?”

Emily and Reid looked at Morgan in minor horror. “You’re hurt?” Emily asked.

“Prentiss. Take the unsub out before he wakes up,” Hotch ordered her, and for once, Emily chose to listen.

Morgan did not flinch at Hotch’s hands on his arm, guiding him to stand. Somehow, Hotch had taken off his suit jacket and balled it up, pressing it to Morgan’s side with one hand just above his hip. He started to lead Morgan out of the apartment. “Reid, you may do a scan for evidence when the police get here,” Hotch called over his shoulder. He pressed a finger to his ear as he said more quietly, “Dave, ready the ambulance for Morgan. He needs medical attention.”

“Man, I’m fine. You heard Reid. It’s only four inches.”

Hotch’s tone brooked no argument. “Four inches of metal that had no business being inside your body.”

Rolling his eyes, Morgan concentrated on the blinking lights of the elevator floor and not on the blood that was staining his pants or Hotch’s jacket. Down at the ambulance, Hotch inspected the wound. Morgan sat there with Hotch’s jacket in his lap and let the paramedic’s rubber-gloved hands prod him. “How is he?” Hotch asked the paramedic.

“It’ll scar with his stitches, but he’ll be fine. Might be a little sore, and you should be careful not to stretch or be too rigorous for the next few weeks.”

“I told you I was fine.”

Hotch shook his head at him and looked like he was about to launch into one of his dad-speeches before one of the police officers called him away. When he was gone, Morgan looked down at the suit jacket on his lap and spread it out, fingers smoothing out the wrinkles. His bloodstain made it look like it was Hotch that got hurt instead of him. Morgan frowned.

* * *

_**V – Garcia** _

It wasn’t often that Garcia was taken on a case. Whenever she did, she was excited to be with her little team because it did get lonely without them and she couldn’t help but worry. She was also very nervous, too, because the pressure felt more intense in the field and she hated to let anyone down. Sometimes there was danger, but not enough to paralyze her with fear. Garcia trusted the team to take care of her.

Of course, the worst quality of the field was the hotels. While they were always miles and miles above the Alaska sleeping-situation, Garcia had an intense night-time and morning ritual. After all, it took a lot of effort to look as good as she does with her hair and makeup. Her outfits also required a lot of accessories to pull off the complete look. Because of that, Garcia had a tendency to always forget something at home that wasn’t in her go-bag, but it was usually something innocuous like a pair of earrings or her lime-green tights.

But no. This time it had to be something important: her pajamas. If she were in a better mood, she would have laughed at how she remembered a sleep mask, but not any pajamas. Considering the frustrating events of the day, though, with the local police second-guessing her every move, she was not in a good mood. With a pout, Garcia considered what to do.

Her first instinct would have been to text JJ and Emily, but she hesitated. They would probably offer her some of their clothes to sleep in, but Garcia wasn’t blind. She was a big bigger than the other two girls, and she liked her clothes to be loose on her when she slept. It was more comfortable that way. And she didn’t want to explain that line of thought to them. So, she closed out the group-chat on her phone.

Her second instinct was to whine to Morgan and bully him into giving her something to wear, but apparently Morgan didn’t sleep in pajamas, as she learned from the Alaska case. He slept in boxers at the least and at most a pair of sweatpants. Plus, she was a little miffed at him after catching him flirting with one of the female detectives. That was one part about being out of the field that she never had to see.

Finally, she settled on her last instinct. Complain to Hotch.

It wasn’t until she was outside of his room and knocking on his door that she considered this might be a bad idea. They didn’t get back to the hotel until nine, and it was nearing ten now. Would Hotch be asleep already?

He wasn’t. Garcia was slightly disappointed, but then she brightened when she saw that he was already dressed down until she remembered her complaint. There was no time to gush how cute he looked in his old Georgetown t-shirt or his FBI sweatpants when she hoped he could have taken her to store to get pajamas. “Garcia,” he greeted her, “Is something wrong?”

“Um,” she flushed, biting her lip as she looked him up and down. His hair looked soft and his arms looked fantastically built, almost better than Morgan’s. “It’s silly. It’s nothing, sir.”

“No, it isn’t.” Despite his usual sternness, Hotch did not sound upset. “Please, come in.” He gestured for her to enter, and Garcia did. This time he was the one looking her up and down. “Why aren’t you dressed for bed? Having trouble sleeping?”

Garcia flapped her hands. “Oh, no, I haven’t tried yet. Um. Well. That’s what I came here for.” She dropped her hands to fiddle with her skirt. “I forgot to bring my pajamas. I was hoping you could take me to the store so I could get some. I just…didn’t want to go alone when we haven’t gotten the unsub yet.” Deflating a little, she added ruefully, “But I see you’re ready for bed. I can get someone else to take me.”

Before she could brush by him to leave, Hotch caught her by the elbow. When she turned back to look at him, he dropped his hand like it was on fire. “There’s no need for that, Garcia. Wait here, please.”

Hotch’s voice was so soft that Garcia was helpless to do anything else otherwise. She let herself drop down on his bed, sitting at the edge with her ankles crossed while she watched him. Her orange fingernail polish was starting to peel, and she started to rip the lacquer off without looking at it.

Hotch had migrated over to his suitcase, rummaging through it. Garcia didn’t realize what he was doing until he turned around with the clothes in his arm. “Oh, sir, no, you don’t have to do that!” protested Garcia.

“Garcia, it’s fine,” Hotch cut her off. He crossed the room to her on bare feet, the paleness of his skin so odd against the backdrop of the ugly, burgundy, octangular patterned hotel carpet. He passed her a white t-shirt and a gray pair of sweatpants. “I keep spare clothes in my bag anyway. I never know how long I’ll be out in the field.”

Garcia wanted to cry even as she accepted the clothes. They felt so soft, and she couldn’t even imagine her boss sleeping in something like this even as she looked at how he was dressed now. It was like he was a whole different person, smaller and slighter in stature, closer to Reid instead of Morgan even though she could see the definition of his muscles more clearly now without his protective suit layer. But he was no different now than he had ever been with her. Hotch had always been unfailingly kind.

Looking up into his face now, Garcia smiled at him softly. “Thank you, sir.” She stood up and clutched his clothes to her chest. They smelled clean, like fabric softener.

He escorted her back to the door. “It’s no problem, Garcia.” His hand was warm at the small of her back. “If you have any trouble sleeping, you can call me. I’ll be awake for a little while yet.”

“Oh, sir,” Garcia turned around in the open doorway, standing at the threshold. She inspected his face, noting the heaviness of his eyebags, the deepness in the lines around his eyes, just how much grayer he had at his temples. “Please get some rest for me.”

She saw Hotch physically sigh by the rise and fall of his shoulders, though his face gave nothing away. That’s how she knew that he was going to do as she asked. He didn’t often refuse her, so Garcia made a point of asking for special favors as little as possible to preserve this awesome power. “I will, Garcia. Don’t worry about me.”

Even after he closed the door and Garcia wandered back in the direction of her own room, she was shaking her head. Silly man. She would always worry about him.

* * *

_**VI – Rossi** _

One of the most annoying factors about the job – beyond the crimes committed – is the police. Maybe Rossi was getting older, but it just seemed like the police were getting younger and younger every year. And somehow, they got even more boneheaded. It’s one of the reasons Rossi wrote his books. He was hoping that the average person could be a little less stupid and pick something up from all of this, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Perhaps he was just spoiled by being around people like Reid and Garcia all the time. Or maybe there was something in the water that made the braincells decrease with each successive generation. But Rossi wasn’t going to admit that he was just a cranky, old man.

This particular police station had to be infected with some a particular kind of stupid. Since they’ve been there, the police have done nothing but slow the investigation process. They’ve improperly handled paperwork, contaminated evidence, and released witnesses without ever properly interviewing them. And the worst part was that none of these screw-ups even yielded results. It wasn’t like any of the cops were playing hard-and-fast in hopes of catching the unsub. They were just incompetent, full-stop.

Rossi was on his fourth cup of coffee, the only thing that was decent so far in this small Missouri town. The coffeemaker was probably the most hard-working individual at the police station besides the BAU, and it didn’t even have an organic brain. Snorting to himself, Rossi watched Reid draw and put pins up on the map for the geographic profile. There was never a dull moment watching the synapses fire in Reid’s brain; Rossi always learned something from him. So far it was just he and Reid at the station. Morgan, Emily, and JJ were interviewing witnesses and Hotch was at the coroner’s office.

“Okay, kid, show me the patterns.”

“There doesn’t seem to be any,” Reid admitted, his voice small as he talked mostly to himself. “At least, none on this kind of map. These locations might have personal meaning to the unsub, but until we narrow the profile, I’m unsure of how to connect these dots.”

“These are the dump sites?”

“Yes, and these are the disappearances,” Reid tapped the other markers. “Other than having the commonality of discretion, there are no other similarities for either category.”

Not having anything to contribute, Rossi looked down at his coffee cup and noted it was empty. “Okay, well, you sit here and think and I’ll get us both another cup of joe.”

Rossi’s trip back to the conference room didn’t offer any more insight in the case, which was disappointing, but it was always healthy to step back and take a break from things so that one can return with a fresh set of eyes. With cups of steaming coffee in both hands, one definitely more sugar than coffee, Rossi had narrowly avoided the police officers that crisscrossed in front of his path like single-minded bees – until the last one clipped his shoulder, causing him to spill coffee all down his shirt. Rossi hissed at the sting and then started cursing in Italian at the officer, some young, blond boy who didn’t even look Reid’s age.

“Sir! I apologize, I didn’t see you,” the officer stuttered, squeezing his arms tight to his chest.

"You didn’t see me walking right in front of you?” Rossi’s irritation at the case found a new subject to target. “I’m hard to miss being the only FBI agent in the Armani suit with the Egyptian-cotton shirt the exact color of a ’61 Château Latour – now stained black by this very hot, black coffee!”

The young officer blanched as white as a ghost, and even though Rossi could feel the eyes of everyone in the station on them as much as he could feel the coffee irritating his skin, he couldn’t stop himself from steamrolling over the officer now. Just as he was about to go off on a tangent that apparently none of the police could use the eyes in their heads around here, Hotch returned from the coroner’s office.

“Dave.”

Rossi glared at Hotch balefully.

Hotch nodded towards the side where the restrooms were. Rossi shoved the other coffee cup at the officer. “Make up your mistake to me by delivering this coffee to Dr. Reid in the conference room. Make sure he drinks it, not wear it. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” the officer stuttered and scurried out of Rossi’s way as he marched off after Hotch.

In the restrooms, Hotch was already sliding off his suit jacket and tie when Rossi walked in. “What are you doing? Some cheap hand-soap isn’t going to save this mess.”

“I know, Dave,” Hotch’s tone was calm and measured. “But there’s no point in you being uncomfortable until we get back to the hotel.” He unbuttoned his shirt with quick, nimble fingertips before passing it to Rossi. He looked odd in his white t-shirt and slacks, but Rossi wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to be dry. Tossing his ruined shirt in the garbage, Rossi wiped the excess coffee off of his chest and soothed away the redness with some cold water. Hotch pulled his suit jacket on over his white shirt and buttoned it up. His tie was tucked into his pocket. “Is there something bothering you, Dave?”

“Besides this police department not being able to function? I’m peachy except for these first-degree burns.”

“Coffee should know better than to burn you,” Hotch teased with a straight face. “You’re Italian.”

"Nice try, Aaron,” Rossi shook his head, feeling ridiculous as he stood shirtless in the public restroom. “But the reports that I’ll draft after we catch this unsub will not be favorable.”

“Fine by me.” Hotch shoved his hands into his pockets, deceptively at ease. “I would be suspicious of if there were a conflict of interest if it weren’t for the fact that these officers are too conspicuously incompetent.”

“It’s a wonder we were ever invited into this case in the first place.”

Their eyes met in the bathroom mirror where they smirked at each other. Despite the severity of the case, Hotch still managed to lighten up when he was with Rossi. It was the kind of familiarity that only came with years and years of friendship. “We were invited to clean up their mess. If the papers hadn’t of gotten a hold of this, then they would have continued to bungle it up.”

Shaking his head again, Rossi blotted his chest dry. “When did you get so smart, kid? You grew up on me when I wasn’t looking.”

That actually drew a small chuckle from Hotch’s lips that had him turning away in embarrassment. Once he had his face looking like a stone again, he spoke up once more. “I’m sorry about your Egyptian-cotton shirt, Dave.”

“I have twenty more back home,” Rossi waved it off as he shrugged on Hotch’s button-up.

“Then why kick up the fuss about the money? I would have been more irritated about the pain.”

“I’m a tough guy, Aaron. It doesn’t hurt that much.” Once he finished buttoning up the shirt, he tucked it into his slacks, feeling funny about it, like a boy playing dress-up in his father’s shirt. If he didn’t still have lingering irritation, he might have gotten a little misty-eyed. Instead, he just turned his attention to Hotch and deadpanned, “We need to get you a good cologne.”

“Does my shirt smell bad?” Hotch had the good-nature to look apologetic. “I put on deodorant this morning, I swear.”

“It doesn’t smell bad, but you’re a grown man, Hotch. You’re old enough to spritz on a nice cologne in the mornings. Give these ladies something to remember when you leave the room other than your winning personality.”

Again, Hotch flushed and turned to leave. “Let’s go see if Reid’s solved the case without us.”

Clapping Hotch on his shoulder, Rossi chuckled at his younger colleague’s expense. Before he could either retire or die, he was determined to see his protégé happily married off again. He was still young, after all.

* * *

**_And I – Hotch_ **

Hotch didn’t know when it happened exactly, but he had found his family. One day he just came into the office – the same as he always did on a typical weekday – and just, knew that he loved him. If he weren’t so well-versed in managing his micro expressions, his knees might have buckled and gave out on him. But as it was, he only paused as he surveyed the bullpen.

JJ had a scarf that he thought he had lost in the move between his apartment and his home. She always got cool in the office, mostly because she had to keep her door open since there was always someone popping in and out. Without thinking twice about it, she retied the scarf around her neck as she leaned her hip against Emily’s desk, just chatting. Apparently, she was using the scarf to hide a love bite from Will. Hotch masked his amusement, even though he wanted to smile.

Emily’s eagle eyes also caught sight of the love bite as she immediately started laying into JJ. She had her arm outstretched, the reading glasses dangling from her fingers as she pointed her index finger accusingly at her. She had stopped hiding them about a month after Hotch had given them to her. He was a little miffed that she could pull off the sophisticated look much better than him, but he still kept his own reading glasses a secret from the rest, not brave enough for their teasing.

Sitting in his desk chair, Reid had both legs pulled up as he was sucked into his paperwork, flipping them through the pages every three seconds. Absentmindedly, he reached down and pulled up one of his pants legs so he could scratch his calf. He was wearing one of the Christmas socks that Hotch had given him so long ago on that weird, unpleasant (more so than normal) sewer case two years ago.

A presence at his shoulder made Hotch step aside so he’d be out of the way, but that didn’t stop Morgan from deliberately squeezing his shoulder as he passed. “Morning, Hotch. I’ll get the Mendoza file on your desk before lunch.” As he passed on his way to his desk, Hotch noted that Morgan was wearing a suit today, though the jacket was almost identical to the one Hotch had. Hotch wasn’t so much surprised at the suit – Morgan was interviewing for an internal promotion this week – as he was at the jacket. How did he never notice that was missing?

Slowly, Hotch continued on his way to the office when he noticed that Garcia was there waiting for him. He didn’t recognize her at first because she looked so…normal in a white t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He didn’t think Garcia owned pants beyond pajama bottoms. Her shoes, jewelry, and makeup were just as eccentric as always, though, which was comforting.

Before he could ask, she was waving her arms and causing a series of bells to ring from her bracelets smacking together. “I know, I know. I’m a mess. I woke up way too late this morning, but it’s a miracle I’m here at all. Anyway! Here’s the budget I typed up for the extra servers I need for my babies. You look at that when you have the chance.” She pressed the papers into his hands, and Hotch noticed that the shirt was one of his. Then she was gone before he could confirm it with her.

In a daze, Hotch went to sit down at his desk. As soon as he was suited, Rossi was casually wandering inside. He, too, was wearing white, though his was a button-down that looked decided different the shirts he normally wore. “Morning, Aaron. I was wondering if you were busy this Friday night?”

“No, Jack is having a sleepover with one of his soccer teammates.” Hotch had to drag his eyes up to meet Rossi’s puzzled that he was seeing his clothes everywhere. “Why?”

“Because you and I are going to this swanky club, and if you’re going to be my wingman, then I think you’ll need something flashy. So here, take this, and I won’t take no for an answer.” Rossi placed a watch box on the desk that had Hotch’s heart stuttering at the brand name. The man was out of the door before Hotch could protest.

After that, it was like a revolving door of visitors. JJ wandered in and dropped off a pair of gloves. “They’re an old pair of Will’s, but I think you need them. You didn’t have any for that case we had in Montana.”

Then Emily when she dropped off her paperwork. “I heard Rossi teasing you about cologne, so I think I’d help you out and give you a bottle that I don’t wear that often. It always helped me out with the ladies,” she winked.

When Morgan came by with the Mendoza file and to talk about how his interview went, he dropped a tie on Hotch’s desk. “Here. My momma gave that to me, but it ain’t really my style to do a tie, you know? The suit, I’ll endure, but not that.”

With Reid, it was actually another pair of socks. “I know it’s not Christmas yet, but I remember what you said about Jessica’s gag gift so I wanted to give you these ones. It’s a gag gift, too. I’ll get you a real present for Christmas! Um, wait. Don’t tell anyone that you’re my person for Secret Santa. Garcia will kill me.”

Reid narrowly avoided Garcia overhearing when she came by later to see if her budget was approved. “Oh, sir, I also made you this toboggan!” She squeezed the top where she had placed a red ball on the otherwise gray knit hat. “I know it’s a bit more color than you normally wear, but I think we could all use a little color in our life.”

By the end of the day, Hotch’s go-bag was bulging from the new additions to his wardrobe. And he felt like his own heart was swollen from the love of his family just as much.


End file.
